


Broken Cityscapes

by orphan_account



Category: New Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A record of Cece and Jess’ friendship, from public restrooms to private rooftops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Cityscapes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stardust_swallow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_swallow/gifts).



_And sure we all get hurt sometimes_

_And sure we all feel ashamed_

_But if our friends can't help us through these things_

_I don't know what friendship means_

[Nana Grizol, _Broken Cityscapes_ ]

 

 

\---

 

It's not the best start. 

It's not even one that Cece _admits_ to anyone, mainly because she likes to think of herself as a somewhat decent friend.

So when she tells the story, she never mentions that Jess’ first words to her were ‘I gotta poo.’

But that’s how it really starts—with Jess rushing into the single person restroom with the wonky door, screaming out her historic first words (the ‘o’ stretched out for a length of time far too long), and then promptly tripping over the trashcan Cece had placed in front of the door in a (clearly failed) attempt to keep someone from busting in on her while her pants were (literally) down.

At seven years old, Cece does not realize just how many inside jokes she and Jess will have due to this moment.

Because Cece does not realize that she’s just met her future best friend.

 

\---

 

_That_ takes at least three full days.

Cece is loath to admit that slimy Roby Vella has anything to do with it, but he does, if only in the role of the villain that unites two beautiful princesses in a fight against his sliminess. (This is, at least, how Jess later depicts it in diorama form.)

But at the time, his sliminess is just slimy, and the spitballs he launches into Cece's hair don't particularly feel like the catalyst for an everlasting friendship.

Until Jess sits down and shows her a sketch (drawn in crayon) for a mini catapult with which Cece will be able to retaliate with ten times the force.

 

\---

 

The catapult doesn’t work.

Not even a little.

But that really isn’t the point.

 

\---

 

Jess likes to say that their friendship is like a beautiful daisy that blossomed in a field of manure. 

To which Cece likes to say, ‘ew’.

 

\---

 

It _is_ kind of like that, though. Because all the shit they go through just seems to make them stronger.

‘Shit’ in the non-literal sense (thankfully): moments that test the bonds formed by public restrooms and saliva-covered paper balls.

 

Such as:

“Mr. Adverb says write carefully and cautiously and correctly,” Jess sings.

Cece carefully, cautiously, and correctly throws her pencil at Jess’ face.

 

Or:

“But _I_ like Connor too!”

 

Or:

“ _Jessica freaking P._?”

 

\---

 

Or:

(Worst of all)

“I don’t _need_ you, Jess. Just leave me alone!”

 

\---

 

But three days later, Jess is at the funeral, holding Cece’s free hand as she clutches at her father’s ugly old coat and cries.

Jess is (always) _there_.

 

\---

 

Which is the reason why, years later, in the month following the Shivrang/Cece/Schmidt/Elizabeth debacle, Jess leaves no less than 42 care packages on her doorstep, even when Cece wants nothing more than to lose herself in booze.

(The packages include Advil sometimes, but more often than not, they contain Jess-like things such as footie pajamas, a harmonica, a video of Jess performing ‘Catch A Falling Star’ (complete with props), Bohemian Raspberry flavored Ben and Jerry’s, and books meant for elementary school children.)

And why in the month following the Jess/Nick fiasco, Cece and Jess have no less than 17 girls-only slumber parties.

(One is _13 Going on 30_ themed and another heavily features the musical stylings of Cher as interpreted by Jess on the recorder. The second to last is in a tree house that definitely does _not_ belong to them… which is _most likely_ why their last slumber party is located in a very cozy communal jail cell at the local police station.)

They both get through it.

(Together.)

As always.

 

\---

 

The sign that they are both completely back on track comes a couple months later.

“Let’s go _out_!”

This is significant because it’s _Jess_ that suggests it, and not even in that sad, mopey, pathetic way that involves her looking like some kind of pencil-drawn caricature that tourists buy at amusement parks or outside Central Park.

It’s in the way that involves Jess grabbing Cece’s hands and looking bright and bubbly and adorable and completely impossible to resist. Cece is familiar with the look, and she would tack on ‘unfortunately’ if she didn’t find it so utterly charming.

 

Thus:

“Okay!”

And the subsequent celebratory dance/getting ready montage. (This is, at least, how Jess would cut it in the musical that is her life, Cece is one hundred percent positive.)

 

Cece can't say she doesn't enjoy this part of the ritual as much as the actual going out part. There's something about Jess sliding around with her hair and makeup done, wearing a nice top and sweatpants and socks that is more than endearing. The whole actually going out thing is pretty great too though, especially considering Jess gets tipsy after a single mix drink (her tolerance had increased after moving in with the boys, but not as much as Cece would have thought—it's not terribly disappointing).

Because Jess is an adorable drunk.

Jess is adorable all of the time, really, but add some alcohol and suddenly everyone in the bar is her new best friend and, when combined with her and Cece's collective hotness, this means free drinks for the rest of the night.

Honestly, Cece hasn't paid for more than a single drink in a very long time.

The only downside to this is, of course, the dochebros; the very specific type of male who thinks that an $8 drink is the golden ticket to a land of beautiful women perfectly willing to throw themselves at them without any concern for their questionable mustache choices and general douchebaggery.

Case in point: a couple of hours into their night of festivities, Cece leaves to use the restroom, only to return to the sight of an uncomfortable Jess and a smirking asshole in her chair.

It makes her entire face twitch.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. That is funny.” Jess’ laugh is loud, and worse, the least sincere thing Cece has ever had the misfortune of hearing. She nearly winces, but instead prepares an equally insincere smile as she gets ready for an intervention.

But Jess spots her first, and suddenly taking the initiative is no longer required; she is being called over.

"Oh! Ha. Ha. Yes. There she is! That's the one." With an awkward gesture over the man's shoulder, Jess points in Cece's direction, looking apologetic in a way that concerns Cece.

For good reason.

"That's my girlfriend. Yessiree! The hot model one."

Cece nearly groans.

Because, sure, _this_ particular ploy always works.

The manboy is looking at Cece carefully and so she does not roll her eyes at Jess, but she makes a mental note to do so later. For now though, she smiles falsely and pleasantly and saunters over to drop a kiss on Jess' cheek (after which the smile loses a good portion of its stiffness, not that Cece is aware).

"Oh! Cool! That's cool."

Jess very carefully puts her arm around Cece's waist, giving the man across from her a pointed look; Cece tries not sigh.

"So like, you two could--"

"If you ask us to kiss for your benefit right now, I will actually rip off your balls."

That takes care of that problem.

The at once proud and chastising look Jess gives her makes the whole thing kind of worth it.

 

\---

 

Of course, once the ploy starts, there's no turning back.

Not that Cece minds; somehow, Jess clutching her hand and batting her eyelashes at her in an overly flirtatious way every time she catches sight of anyone looking in their general direction makes for the most entertaining night out she's had in a while.

Which is almost concerning, honestly. Cece is perfectly happy to not think about it—to ignore and remain blissfully happy with the fun and not question the reasons behind it.

 

Jess, apparently, is not.

“Cece!” Jess stage whispers, too loud in Cece’s ear. “This is a _trope_.”

“A what?”

“A trope! We’re living out a trope!” A cackle not unlike one that might belong to a clichéd villain bursts from Jess’ lips. “I am experiencing a staple of fiction. No wonder you look so pretty.”

“I—what?” 

“Oh, _you know_ ; if we were fictional characters this would totally be our moment and there’d be a cheesy soundtrack playing in the background as we flounder over the feelings brought on by pretending to be dating.”

“I— _what_?”

Floundering is probably a good word for it though—the stupefied look has never been an attractive one, and Cece routinely avoids it, but she’s sure she’s wearing it now. And she’s sure it only gets worse when Jess threads her arm through hers and kisses her on the corner of her lips, not especially quickly.

“Check out my hot girlfriend, people!” Jess bellows.

Cece actually _flushes_.

 

It’s not great.

 

\---

 

Neither is the next morning, when she wakes to a jackhammer pounding at the inside of her skull and a head on her chest.

The first is unpleasant, the second actually rather nice— _fuzzy feelings in her stomach_ nice. 

Until she realizes that the head belongs to Jess and their legs are intertwined and this is not completely different from how some of their sleepovers have gone so why is she suddenly _panicking_?

Not that she’s the only one.

When Jess awakes she rolls off of the bed and laughs hysterically as she panic moonwalks out of the bedroom.

It’s weird.

 

\---

 

Cece goes on a date the next week.

The guy is kind and smart and well-dressed. He pays and doesn't force a first kiss and opens doors for her. It is, in every sense of the word, nice.

And nowhere near as fun as the accidental one she'd had with Jess.

That's weird too.

 

\---

 

Actually, Cece has a difficult time thinking of more than a few dates she's gone on that were as fun as her accidental one with Jess.

And that's more than weird.

That's a problem.

 

\---

 

Schmidt is the one to call her out on it, several (awkward) days later.  

(The smug little bastard.)

“There is a weirdness.”

‘Shut up, Schmidt’ has become Cece’s standard response to all things issuing from the mouth of said man/spineless creature, and she uses it with great effectiveness now:

“Shut up, Schmidt.”

He, as usual, ignores it with equal effectiveness, performing some kind of weird crane dance—neck sticking out and bobbing around—as he smells the air around them.

“A weirdness,” he repeats, taking another sniff. “The _energy_ is off.”

“Your mom is off,” Jess shoots back; voice unnaturally lowered by at least an octave.

Schmidt halts in his strange movements. Cece’s eyebrows rise. 

And then, nearly immediately after:

“I am _so_ sorry. Your mom is lovely.”

There’s a pause. Jess sticks out her bottom lip a little and Cece tries not to stare. With a wave of Schmidt’s hand, she is forgiven.

More importantly, the matter is dropped.

Cece relaxes back into the couch, trying not to scoot any further away from Jess, and attempts to avoid thinking about how Schmidt might _possibly_ be right.

 

\---

 

“Schmidt was right.”

Days later, this is the distressing conclusion she has come to. Voicing it now, to Jess, is almost physically painful, even on the roof of Jess’ apartment with the wind tempering the heat present even after the lowering of the sun.

Jess laughs; actually leans over to pat Cece on the head like some kind of benevolent fairy godmother.

“Oh, Cece. Good one. Good joke. Hold on, I think I have my gold stars around here somewhere.”

From anyone else, such a thing would be said with sarcasm, but Jess is actually twisting in her lawn chair, looking for her purse, which undoubtedly contains a full sheet of gold stars. (Cece would know—she’s received her fair share of them.)

“No, Jess. I’m serious! Schmidt was right!”

“Those words have _literally_ never come out of anyone’s mouth before. And you _know_ how I feel about the misuse of the word ‘literally’, like yesterday when—”

“Jess!”

Cece’s not proud of the way her voice pitches, but it apparently gets the severity of the moment across, because Jess again swivels in her chair, mirroring Cece’s position with her legs are over the side, their knees lightly touching, and her smile drops off her face.

“Okay, okay. Schmidt was right.” There’s a pause. “About what?”

There are probably more delicate ways to put it, but Cece’s not thinking about any of them when she throws up her hands in annoyance.

“About _us_!”

Jess stares at her. "...us," she repeats. Slowly and carefully.

"The weirdness!" The words might be considered a 'wail', not that Cece would ever admit it.

“Yes, ah—the weirdness.”

It’s clear Jess knows exactly what she’s talking about, from the expression on her face—both sheepish and apologetic, and Cece cringes at the thought of the conversation to come, despite the fact that Jess had apparently been willing to ignore it for the rest of forever.

Oh well. Best to get it all out.

Which Cece is just about to do when—

 

Jess does it for her.

“I’m sorry, Cece! It’s just like—you’re _really_ beautiful and that’s always been like—whatever before, but um—I don’t know—the trope! It’s all the trope’s fault! Actually—both tropes! Because waking up next to you was different and it make me feel weird topsy-turvy things in my tummy and I’m totally, one-hundred perfect sure that it’ll go away, just like it did that one time you went shopping with Jessica P. instead of me, or when we went together to Junior Prom, or when I lived on your couch and I had to—no, _got to_ see you every morning before you’ve had coffee—and—uh—it’ll go away. Totally. Don’t be weird.”

It takes approximately two seconds for Jess to get through the speech, after which she sucks in a great gulp of air before adding,

“Please?”

It’s sort of the perfect speech. Or—not at all perfect, but so _Jess_ , and for Cece, that might be the same thing. And it definitely deserves a response of a most eloquent nature.

“Oh.”

Or not.

“I mean—” She tries again. “Me too.”

That’s not much better (read: it is not any better at all), but Jess does that whole cartoon-eyes thing and her mouth sort of squirms about and she’s learning forward even further and Cece feels the not entirely foreign (but always repressed) desire to kiss her best friend.

 

But Jess does that for her too.

Quickly. Sweetly. Just a brush of the lips.

But it feels really—

 

Cece jerks back, fingers curling into her palms.

(Good. It feels really good.)

 

Jess blinks.

And begins to sing.

 “Awkwardddd,” she croons. “This is an awkward momen—”

“Jess.”

That’s all it takes for silence to slide in place—for Jess’ words to fade and leave uncertainty in their place. And it’s almost painful; the way Cece cannot decipher any of the other emotions present (even the ones belonging to her).

“Cece…”

The lights of the city before them look inviting; the beginnings of cracks in the inky silhouette of the skyline.  Cece looks away to stare at them because it’s easier than staring at Jess—easier to think of the holes in cityscape than the questions and uncertainties that have rarely blotted a friendship that has stretched decades.

“It happens.” Her eyes find the dark cement of the rooftop beneath her feet—seemingly the only thing that does not overstimulate. A quick shake of her head and her voice _almost_ sounds normal and steady and sure. “It totally happens sometimes—when you’ve been friends as long as we have. Let’s just forget about—”

“Orrr,” Jess begins, and it sounds so much like the start of a song that Cece looks up shoot her an exasperated look.

But when her eyes find Jess’, there is nothing but sincerity there.

“Or,” she says again, shoulders lifting in an overly casual gesture, even as she leans forward. “Maybe it doesn’t just _happen_.”

Cece’s mouth opens in surprise. But it starts to curl upwards not to soon afterwards.

“Oh.” 

 

\---

 

Jess would probably say all of it led to thismoment.

(‘All of it’ being the broken doors and spitballs and horrible grammar songs and deaths and breakups and trespassing charges and literary clichés and broken cityscapes.)

And Cece can’t know this with absolute certainty, because suddenly Jess’ mouth is back on hers, and that prevents anyone from saying much of anything at all.

But the way she kisses Jess back is an agreement to the words unsaid, nevertheless.


End file.
